


What's In An Embrace?

by Marashete



Category: Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-03
Updated: 2012-11-03
Packaged: 2017-11-17 16:30:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/553598
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marashete/pseuds/Marashete
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Loki brawls, takes a fall, loses it all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What's In An Embrace?

**Author's Note:**

> This fanfic is probably the lovechild of a few things.
> 
> My growing fondness for Loki-centralized fiction, Calexico, and Thorki (even though this is a gen-fic).  
> I like to think the kids he's fighting are the other Avengers.

      You hug yourself like no one else ever will. That thought is disconcerting so you push it away. Voyeuristic was never the word you would have wanted to describe your life. Sure, maybe once in a while you were into that kind of thing but -

     Children know nothing of love, you think staring blankly at everyone who thought they subtlety kept their distance. Nobody fucked with you, not anymore. Not since you broke your reflection, sickened by your dark hair and emerald eyes.  
Oh, you smelled like lies did you? They sensed danger in you, sweet cheeks; it poisons your green eyes, sinking into the cuticles of your just-long-enough-to-cut-deep nails.

     You were never a child, but even then love was a graceless word. That thought brought a secret smirk to your lips. Your fingers thumb a page of the book you've half read, half thought-through as you carefully obliterate the expression. School wasn't so bad if no one tried twice to go toe-to-toe with you vis-à-vis linguistics, but that's not to say they didn't at least attempt.

     At least they didn't speak at you. About you, yes, but you could live with that.

Maybe that last bit was a lie.

    One did try twice. They even interrupted your brother as he made to speak with you on the way to class. He was arrogant and loud and all of his friends found him hilarious. Your brother stiffened beside you, swallowing roughly. He was definitely aware now of your problems, foreign as they were to him. Love was a graceless word, even for him.

    The jeers of your name grew harder and harder to ignore; your rationale slipped- the little cautionary voice in your head slowly dimming, falling victim to the humming in your ears. You quirked an eyebrow, lip curling up in a sneer that could ravage kingdoms, and flashed a long, bony middle finger.  
The jeering was cut off before being replaced by a sudden indignant explosion of sound and disbelief. You remained calm, spitting back even retorts as they advanced on you, shoulders above your eye level.

    Naive as they were, they assumed you couldn't fight them back effectively. Numerically, yes. Strategically, you were far above. They had no way of knowing your father was insane, enrolling you in as many martial arts courses as possible and didn't pick you up when some kid broke your nose because "it built character". No, damn it all, there were four of them and you couldn't just keep your mouth shut like you always do, could you?  
And maybe your brother was there, but words weren't exactly his strong suit and he rarely deftly stood up for you. He tried, but mostly just made it worse for you when he wasn't around.

    You watched him briefly out of the corner of your eye as he mirrored your movements, turning slightly to put himself forward, between you and them. It was sweet, but ineffective. He was all gold hair and perfect eyes, a full head taller than you with a full truck more muscle.

    One of them stepped towards you with the ring of your invitation of a fight still whipping through the air. It was suffocating, and you began to realize people hated you for fighting back, like it was you causing the scene. You supposed that was half correct; that didn't stop the rage-crushing loneliness from sinking in your stomach, just enough to make you miss the biggest one move to shove you into the lockers.

    Your head clanged against the metal -- oh sure enough he was moving, your brother, mashing his fist into the poor kid's jaw. You felt oddly touched, but somehow painfully coddled. You wanted an excuse to fight back, to show them you weren't fucking pathetic, but somehow it all turned like it always did and you were fucking pathetic and your vision spun. You sunk to your knees; your wrists caught your upper body with a jolt as you lurched forward.  
You couldn't spring up as one of the smaller guys slunk towards you, but you managed to blink away the disorientation in time to stand and step aside from his swing. He stumbled when you moved lithely away, looking faintly worried as he lunged forward again. Moron. You shifted and battered his stomach, feeling the faint glide of his knuckles on your cheekbones. No pain. You targeted his kidneys, and he howled and darted away. You caught sight of your brother, his knuckles split.

    Nobody gave a shit that you had fueled the fight- they suspended your brother for five days. They gave you a warning; you had to admit, if you had just provoked and he hadn't lunged, you would have come out considerably more smug and marginally less bruised.

    Your brother looked at you over dinner (after your father had, though rightfully, viciously blamed you) and grinned. His blue eyes were just like your father's, and what was meant to be comfort turned sickly into something twisted, cold and bitter.  
At this, your nostalgia falters, and through the building roar in your mind all you can hear reverberate is  
     "No, Loki."  
You hug yourself like no one else ever will.  
     "No, Loki."  
It is cool and silent trapped between your skin; loneliness and stainless steel quickly became fixed points in your hazy maze of milk-white teeth and bitter jealousy.  
You'd like to think he could never hate you, but you know they all do.  
You hug yourself like only he could.  
     "No Loki." No no no. No is right as you watch the world spiral away, and you can't tell if his screams are victory or horror. It's just fucking luck that you wake up later.  
     "No, Loki." He's crying and you sniffle a bit . You hurt and breathing is worth nothing. Goddammit, Loki! He looks up and even tears are flattering on him.  
     Where your eyes meet is like where the plains meet the sky and he breathes in.  
     "Oh, Loki."  
      You must have missed the 'n' - he sighs and grabs your hand - hidden somewhere in the air he's exhaled.  
      Children know nothing of love - of cool cement splattered with your own steaming blood; of only half-waking terrors of real abandonment. Once they know this, they are no longer children. You were never a child.  
      You hug yourself, cold and incapable of warming yourself like he does,  
      Like nobody else ever will.  
      Bones are brittle and cold is comforting.  
      You hug yourself like no one else ever will.

**Author's Note:**

> Be gentle!
> 
> Un-beta'd so if you see any mistakes please let me know!


End file.
